Partners
by Shazrolane
Summary: Clint Barton, professional rodeo rider, was currently what you would call "down on his luck." (May be a one shot, may be continued at a later date, sorry about that. Think of it as a one shot...)
1. Chapter 1

Clint Barton, professional rodeo rider, was currently what you would call "down on his luck." In the calf roping competition, his calf had tripped over its own feet and gone down. It was clearly not his fault, nor the fault of his horse Widow, but the rules were clear. Precious seconds were lost while the calf got to its feet. In the team roping, his so-called partner had broken the barrier ahead of time, _again_, and lost them that competition. Then in the steer wrestling competition, Widow stumbled and Clint went over her head. He just laid there in the dirt, staring up into the night sky, until Widow ambled over and stuck her black nose right into Clint's belly. The crowd laughed and he waved his hat at them as the two of them walked out of the arena, Widow's head over Clint's shoulder.

Outside of the arena, the picture wasn't so perfect. Clint had needed that money. He had a grand total of a truck with a quarter tank of gas, a trailer, his gear, a duffel bag of clothes, and $12 to his name. Clint had been trying not to think about it, but he was rapidly approaching the point where he wasn't going to be able to feed Widow. The half a bag of feed and one bale of hay in the back of the truck wasn't going to last forever.

Clint swung up into the saddle. There was some long grass growing at the edge of the grounds; letting Widow eat some grass tonight meant that he wouldn't have to feed hay, so it would stretch what he had a bit further. He'd think of something. He had to…

As they came around the back of the main building, Widow pulled up short. A man in a suit who obviously injured was running for the trees, chased by four other men with baseball bats and chains. Clint knew better than to stick his head in other people's trouble but he just couldn't stand by. He'd always been stupid that way.

A touch of his heels set Widow at a gallop. He put his piggin' strap between his teeth and readied his lariat. Widow started swiveling her ears as they approached much closer to the people than they would a calf, as if to say "This isn't anything we've trained for," but other than that, gave no complaint. Clint threw his rope overhand, just like roping the head of a steer. Without waiting to see if it landed, he threw himself at the third person and wrestled him to the ground. The man was stunned, which made tying his hands and one foot that much easier.

Clint threw his hands in the air through sheer muscle memory, and then turned to check on Widow. The horse was doing her job, backing up to keep tension on the rope holding the two men. They had figured out that they needed to walk towards the horse to loosen the tension, but Widow was having none of that. She kept backing up, faster than the two men could coordinate their movements with each other.

The sound of a pistol clip being loaded caught his attention. The cowboy spun around to see the fourth and final man take aim at Widow. Clint looked around desperately for some way to help his best friend, when three sharp cracks sounded. The fourth man fell, shot twice through the heart and one through the head, as the man in the suit lowered his pistol.

Clint nodded at him, then went to check on his partner, picking up his hat on the way. Widow seemed to be having the time of her life, shaking her head and almost chuckling at the predicament of the two men she held captive. Clint tipped his hat to her and grinned.

Widow snorted, her ears swiveling forward, pointing behind Clint. He turned to meet the man in the suit, who held out his uninjured hand.

"My name is Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD. I believe I may have a job for you."


	2. Chapter 2

Clint = . /-mJgdgrHGwTA/TywqxaxronI/AAAAAAAAASE/eIrn4tpmIyo/s1600/normal_

Widow = images/ashley_mills_

Hulk = .

Iron Man = . /_v_3RuYTnT38/TGgptUos6hI/AAAAAAAAAA8/8HoIcuyHdHo/s1600/IMG_

Jane = . /i/pix/2013/08/17/article-2396310-1B58426A000005DC-753_

Thor = fs71/i/2011/359/a/0/belgian_draft_8_by_

Steve and Cap = photos/D/748216-Rodeo-rider-on-horse-with-American-flag_

Hawkeye img/adphotos/021/365021_buckskin_barrel_horse_photo_1_

The agent had pulled out a radio and was speaking into it. Clint looked at the dead guy on the ground. "Look mister, I ain't one to stand by and watch someone get beat up, but this looks like it's way over my level. We got a dead guy here, and I don't need that kinda trouble."

"We're going to have a lot more, if we don't figure out where the weapons are hidden and what they plan to do with them," said Agent Coulson as he approached the two men stuck in the lariat. He pulled out two pairs of handcuffs with the hand that wasn't holding the pistol, then held them out towards Clint. "Would you be so kind as to…?"

Clint took the handcuffs and put them on the two men, admitting to himself that it felt odd to be on this side of the handcuffs. Meanwhile, the suit continued, "There will be more if we don't stop them. They're smuggling weapons. Every time we figure out their methods, they change. Six months ago, they apparently dropped off the map, but the weapons were still showing up, so we knew they were still active."

Another man in a black suit showed up – this one a bald black man with glasses.

Clint looked at the two of them and grinned. "Lemme guess, they went someplace you bunch weren't too familiar with. Like, the rodeo circuit."

"Not exactly," the agent said as he made both of the handcuffed men sit down, where he promptly cuffed their right ankles together. "There's something special going on here. We have reason to believe they're targeting Tony Stark."

Clint stared for a moment, frozen in shock, then he laughed. "Tony Stark ain't coming to this two bit rodeo."

"No, but he's speaking at the university tonight," said Coulson, "We need to find the weapons, and the rest of the group, before he arrives."

Clint walked back to his horse. "Ease up, Widow," he said. Once she took a step forward to loosen the tension on the rope, Clint was able to take the lariat off the two men. He carefully coiled it and returned it to its customary place, then swung up into the saddle. The creak of the well-oiled leather sounded like welcome home, in his mind. In the saddle, he and Widow were a fully functioning team, a team of two equal partners who could read each other's minds. In the saddle, he gained his confidence back.

"So, what, you want me to just ride around and see who doesn't belong?" he asked.

"Something like that," replied the agent. "Where do you think crates of weapons could be stored?" Agent Coulson started walking towards the back lot of the rodeo.

"Feed trucks, there's been extra security. We've all been talking about it, like the rough stock contractor didn't trust us to buy our own," Clint responded immediately. "They got new guys on the portable fencing, seemed to have more than usual. And then there's some extra competitors, that haven't competed."

"Let's go," said Mr. Man in Black.

"We got a lot of ground to cover," said Clint. "Can you ride?"

Coulson nodded, so Clint swung them by a trailer pulled by some odd camper that looked like it could go off roading. "Hey, Jane!"

A petite brunette smiled at him. "What's up, cowboy?"

"We got one of them university people visitin', I was gonna show him around. You mind if we borrow Thor for him to ride?"

"No problem!" she said, walking off. Within a matter of moments, she had a gigantic palomino horse saddled and bridled.

The agent looked up at the saddle. WAY up. For the first time, he seemed slightly off balance.

"Don't you worry none," Jane reassured Coulson, "Thor'll keep you safe. He's about bombproof. You could probably hit him with this truck and he'd just smile at you and keep walkin'."

Clint swung down off of his saddle to give the agent a boost up onto the giant horse's saddle, then mounted Widow and they were off, waving their thanks to Jane.

Clint, Widow, the Agent and Thor turned a corner around a trailer and saw a scene of chaos at the trucks that held the portable fencing. Poles were scattered everywhere, along with long crates and metal cases that looked like they held something more dangerous than screwdrivers and hammers. The two men that were assembling something out of the cases and crates stopped and looked at them, then split up and started running. The agent went after one, so Clint went after the other.

He ran and dodged around garbage cans, barrels, trailers and spectators, making the best use of his environment. Widow wasn't used to barrel racing or pole bending, but she weaved and bobbed and ducked around every corner and obstacle. Clint did his best to assist her balance, and other than that just stayed the heck out of her way.

They finally caught up with the man at the bull pens. He grinned at them, and showed them a large metal pin before he dropped it in the dust. Clint's eyes widened as he realized that it was one of the pins that held the fences together. His eyes got bigger as he realized which bull was in the pen that was now held together by wishes and prayers.

The other man pulled out some sort of weapon that looked vaguely like a gun and shot the bull with something that didn't kill him, but made him mad as hell. Predictably, the bull charged, right at the pen. The man jumped into a neighboring pen just as the bull crashed through the weakened structure of his own pen.

Clint spun Widow on her haunches and set her at a gallop, looking for help. They came up on the agent, who was holding the other man at gunpoint, while Thor ate a poptart that someone had left on the ground.

"Leave him, go go go!" Clint yelled, pulling Widow into a sliding stop.

Coulson looked at him, then paled. "There's a bull loose!"

"That ain't just any bull, that's the Hulk!"

"Go find Steve! Just start yelling for him! I'm gonna keep Hulk away from the crowds!" With that, Clint touched his heels to the Widow's flank. She jumped sideways, just barely dodging the Hulk's charge. He pulled up before he hit the back of a truck, snorted, and looked around for a target.

Clint waved his hat and whooped, trying to get the bull's attention.

Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Clint breathed out an apology to the Widow, and then the chase was on.

They raced up and down the aisles and wove around trucks. Clint yelled the entire time, trying to warn and clear out any riders that were in the area. Most of the people on horseback cleared out, and those on foot got in or on top of trucks or trailers. On the one hand, it was good that he didn't have to worry about dodging people. On the other hand, it was down to just him and Widow. Well, at least he could trust her.

They passed a trailer, and Clint had a split second to see the horse inside, and that sparked an idea. He whipped Widow into a full circle around the trailer and jumped from her saddle onto the trailer. He pulled the door open and called out, "Come get 'em, Iron Man!"

A dark red horse jumped out of the trailer, unbridled and riderless. "Get 'em in the pen, Iron Man! In the pen!"

The sorrel snorted and flipped his tail up, then started running and dodging, constantly changing directions. It was a delicate dance of forward motion and retreat.

Widow had continued her second circle around the trailer, and Clint was able to run up on her and pull himself into the saddle mid-gallop.

The two of them did their best to work with Iron Man, following his lead as they tried to move the Hulk into a safer area. But every time Clint thought they had it, the bull would slip through an opening. They were good, and Iron Man was doing his job admirably well, but the grounds were just too cluttered and chaotic.

A familiar voice made Clint breathe a sigh of relief. Well, as much as he could while still hanging on to Widow who was changing directions with every stride, and having the time of her life. He spared a glance to see Steve on his bay horse Cap, holding the American flag he used during the starting ceremonies. 

"You! On the big horse! Get in that gap between the green trailer and the purple one! I'm going to keep him from going into the spectator areas! Clint, Widow's more nimble than Cap, so you two lure him into the steer pen!"

"Wait, WHAT?" Clint shouted.

"Thor and Cap can't move like Widow!" Steve responded.

"Crap!" Clint yelled as he pushed Widow through a tiny opening, past the bull and into the constrained area between him and the steer pen.

Clint flicked his lariat out just enough to touch the Hulk on his nose. The monster turned, locked eyes on him, and then charged.

It was at this moment that Clint realized what a monumentally bad decision this had been.

The next few minutes were simultaneously three hours long and a blur. Cap and Steve moved forward steadily, while Iron Man lived up to his reputation. He danced and ran and spun, always managing to block every path at just the right time. Clint could almost swear that the sorrel was flying.

Steve and Cap were a moving barrier, preventing the bull from heading into the spectators, all the while armed with nothing more than a flag. Every time the bull came their way, Steve lowered the pole like a spear. The moving flag seemed to confuse the bull, who turned away every time.

The Hulk came after Thor once. The normally placid giant rose up on his hind legs and threw his enormous hooves in the bull's face. The bull dodged the first hoof, but caught a glancing blow from the second. Incredibly, the hit seemed to stagger the bull, who took a step sideways and shook his head.

When he recovered, Clint and Widow were in front of him. Clint could feel her shuddering underneath him, but she stayed focused and continued to do her job. She shook her mane at the bull, who gathered his feet underneath him and came straight at her.

The black mare spun and bolted, abandoning subtlety for sheer speed. Clint rose in the stirrups and got out of her way the best that he could, snatching quick glances behind them to see the bull.

They pounded down the dusty aisle between trailers and trucks, rounded a corner and entered the steer pen. Clint got her turned, but then ran out of time.

The only thing he could see was the bull, horns down, coming straight at them. He could feel Widow's muscles bunching underneath him. He abandoned all pride and grabbed for the saddle horn with both hands, not knowing what she had planned, but fully aware that his life depended on staying with her.

She jumped sideways.

He didn't manage to stay on.

There's an old cliché that you see your life flash before your eyes before you die. Clint didn't see anything as he fell. Instead time slowed down and gave him plenty of time to realize what was happening. He knew that this was it, that he was going to die. An odd sense of calm came over him as time slowed down around him. He was willing to accept this. He just hoped that Steve would take care of Widow for him.

The ground and the bull's hooves both came closer. Clint took another breath and relaxed his body. He knew he was going to die, but he'd prefer it didn't hurt too much.

A flapping suit of green and purple filled his field of vision. A rodeo clown was there, waving his arms. Clint recognized Bruce, one of the premier clowns.

Time caught back up to him. The ground came up to slam into him. The Hulk went after the clown.

Clint forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the edge of the pen, off balance the entire time. He fell at the edge of the pen and just rolled under the pipe fence, looking back.

Widow was hightailing it out of the pen. Bruce was standing still. The Hulk was staring at him. The two seemed locked in a battle of wills.

"What you need me to do, Bruce?" Clint called out.

"I've got him. I'll get him settled down," Bruce said, the strain in his voice belying his calm tone.

"We need to stop the assassins, preferably by capturing them, and keep Mr. Stark safe," said Agent Coulson, handling his horse less than expertly. Thor seemed a bit excited but overall seemed to none the worse for wear from his encounter from the Hulk.

Clint held up his hands in a 'Stop' gesture. "I'm just a trick roper from a circus," he said. He pointed at Coulson and Steve. "You're the agent, and you're the ex-soldier."

"Go find Mr. Stark at the University auditorium, then," replied the agent. With that, he turned Thor and put his heels to his mount. The huge horse broke into a gallop, his hooves sounding like thunder. Steve followed, Cap's lighter but still strong hoofbeats hammering in counterpoint.

"Great, go save the genius billionaire from getting shot," Clint muttered as he set Widow towards the gate at a fast trot. "Cause I know how to do that sort of thing."

The sun had finally sunk low enough that street lights were starting to come on, lending a surreal aspect to the entire scene as Clint entered the grounds of the university, looking to save one of the most famous men in the world from a nefarious scheme.

The streets had more people than Clint expected to see. Then again, he'd never been to college, so who was he to think he knew what to expect. Some of them stared, some of them ignored him and others cheered. He thought those were drunk but they were the only ones who answered when he asked "Where's the auditorium?"

He followed their directions until he saw a group of people and another group of reporters. A limo was pulling up. What were the chances that this limo had Stark in it?

Who was he fooling? This was his life, and his luck. He leaned forward, and nudged Widow, who broke into a run.

This was not going to end well.

He took Widow across the lawn at a full gallop, asking her for everything she had to give him. A man with a goatee was getting out of the limo, wearing a suit that looked expensive even to Clint. He walked down the red carpet, waving to the crowd and smiling, while another man kept close by, like the bodyguards Clint had seen on tv.

Clint put everything he had into yelling out, "Get down NOW!" Everyone turned and froze in place, which, you know, made things easy for someone trying to shoot them.

There was a line of bushes on either side of the sidewalk, which had an honest-to-God red carpet on it. Widow gathered herself and jumped over the hedge. Clint launched himself at Stark, impacting hard enough to force an "Umph!" out of the man. As they hit the concrete, a shot rang out.

Widow fell onto the sidewalk.

"Oh God NO!" Clint didn't know if he was yelling or praying or crying, or all three at once. Stark tried to get up, so Clint grabbed him, pulling him down. "Stay down, you idiot!" he hissed.

"No cover here!" Stark replied. Oh yeah, GENIUS billionaire.

"Limo!" Clint said, at the same time Stark said "Car!" They both scrambled for the car, but since it was the best protection around, the space behind it was already full of the reporters and spectators. They made it to the scant cover of the car door.

Clint had spent plenty of Saturday afternoons drinking beer and shooting holes in an old truck parked in someone's pasture. He had no delusions that a door would stop any sort of rifle round, but it was the best they had. A crappy best, but hey, this was his life.

He pushed Stark into the car, towards the driver's seat. "Get out of here!" he yelled, then turned back, only to be stopped by Stark grabbing his shirt, which promptly ripped to shreds.

"What the hell are you doing? We have to get out of here!" said Stark, who was already starting the car as his bodyguard piled in the back seat.

"My horse!" said Clint, pulling out of the ripped shirt and away from the man's grasp.

He stumbled out of the car just as it pulled away, tires squealing. Widow was lurching to her feet, the red carpet pooling around her legs. It seemed as if the carpet had slipped under her hooves when she landed from her jump.

Pointing at the retreating limo, he yelled "Chase!" which was his standard command when they went after a calf or steer. She took off after it. Clint ran to intercept and grabbed for the saddle horn, pulling himself up towards the saddle.

Without missing a beat, Widow slid sideways underneath him, scooping him onto her back, like she did this every day. They pounded down the road, Clint praying that her shoes wouldn't make her slip again.

The limo turned a corner and squealed down a ramp into a parking garage. Clint tried to head back to the rodeo grounds, but Widow was having none of that, thank-you-very-much and followed the car down the ramp.

The big man was just hustling Stark into a freight elevator for the hotel attached to the garage. "Hold the door!" Clint yelled. He figured the distance, did his best to factor in the concrete and metal horse shoes, and signaled for a full stop at the last possible moment. Widow practically sat down on her haunches, sparks flying from her shoes as she slid to a stop right in front of the elevator, then daintily took the last few steps into the metal box, as Stark took his finger from the Open Door button.

The doors closed, and the elevator started to rise. The only sound was Widow greedily sucking in breath as her sides heaved. Clint, still on her back but almost laying on her neck because of the low roof, started to feel self-conscious as the two men stared at him.

There was a gentle 'ding' as they reached the top floor. The doors opened to a crowd of people, some obviously security, others hotel staff and still others dressed as fancily as Stark. They all started talking as soon as Stark and his bodyguard got out of the elevator.

They fell silent as Clint and Widow stepped out. The security guards moved to place themselves between him and Stark, but stopped at his negligent gesture.

Stark straightened his very much the worse for wear suit jacket, then held his hand out to Clint. "I don't think we've formally met. I'm Tony Stark. Genius, playboy, billionaire, weapon designer, and apparently tonight's target."

Clint wiped his hand on his jeans (as if that would help, they were filthy) and took Stark's hand in a firm grip. "Clint Barton, rodeo rider. And this here's Widow." He slid down out of the saddle and she gave a big sigh, leaning against him. Clint could feel her sweat starting to slide down his skin, still bare from his ripped shirt.

"Would you mind explaining what the hell just happened, Mr. Barton?" asked Stark.

Clint wiped the horse sweat off his ribs with his hand and idly wiped it on the remains of his shirt. "Well, this was this government agent, and he…" his voice trailed off as he realized it was blood, rather than sweat, that he was wiping off his hand.

Horrified, he spun to look at Widow. She looked like she had been scraped along a concrete sidewalk, scratches bleeding all along her side and legs.

He grabbed a handful of water bottles off a nearby table. Pouring one out onto his shirt, he started to clean her wounds.

"Um, we were talking here?"

Clint didn't bother to look around. "You're welcome, now leave me the hell alone, unless you've got a first aid kit around here."

"Are you honestly brushing me off for a _horse_?" said the rich man, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I make it a point to focus on the important things," Clint replied, being as gentle as he could to his best friend. Dammit, the run she had just made, injured…he felt sick, his hands loosening the saddle girth as quickly as he could.

"I can buy you a new one, you know," said Stark.

"Probably bought all your friends, too, didn't you Stark? Noticed how many of them were out there with you tonight," Clint retorted, finally dumping the saddle on the carpeted floor.

"I did too," said Stark, his voice remarkably different.

Immediately, several of the security guards started protesting their innocence. "Shut up!" said Stark. "Look at all of you, standing here, eating hors d'oeuvres in bullet armor _that I designed for you_, while this man and his horse saved my life. You're all fired! Get out of my sight!" Stark turned to the two women. "Pepper, get a vet in here. Natalie, go find a-"

A red haired woman silently held out a large first aid kit. Clint could have kissed her. He grabbed it and pulled out some antibiotic ointment.

Widow let another sigh, shifted her weight, and let out an enormous dump on the expensive carpet.

Clint figured that summed up the day nicely.

"Here, take it," said Stark, holding out the biggest handful of cash Clint had ever seen.

It took every ounce of willpower he had, but Clint shook his head. "No sir. I grew up on charity, I ain't taking it no more. I'm a man, and I earn my money." Clint finished locking the trailer door. Widow had been stitched up and bandaged and had some painkillers. In short, she'd been treated as equine royalty, and taken all of it as her due. Clint was a little jealous (last time he'd needed stitched, it had been Bruce who done it, with a sewing needle and a bottle of cheap whiskey) but mostly he was glad that his best friend was going to be okay.

Stark looked surprised. "You keep telling me No."

"Yessir, I do," replied Clint.

That made Stark smile. "An honest man is hard to find." He looked around for a bit, then continued on. "I have an old ranch. My dad bought it as an investment a long time ago, but it's just been sitting. Right now, I'm losing money on it. Think you could turn it around, make a profit on it? Maybe raise some fancy cattle. Or emus or something."

Clint looked at him like he was crazy. "Emus?"

"Don't people eat those?" asked Stark.

Agent Coulson answered, "I think you mean ostriches, Mr. Stark."

"Ostriches, whatever," he answered, waving his hand around.

"I don't know nothing about ostriches, but there's some money in cattle. More in wild horses," answered Clint.

"Wild horses?" asked Ms. Potts, from where she stood next to Stark.

"Yes ma'am. Too many of them for the range to support, so the government rounds them up and pays people to keep them on their own land. Could get a permit to train some of them, sell them to people who want working horses," Clint replied.

Stark grinned. "See, you're already helping. Get this ranch up and running, make me some money. Put some cows on it, so I can invite Pepper's family over and impress her nephews. Think you could do that?"

Clint thought about, honestly thought hard about it. "Couldn't do it by myself," he finally said, reluctantly.

"How many people would you need?" answered Stark, business like.

"Need someone to handle books, I'm no good with stuff like that. Need some ranch hands to build fences and help feed, harvest and store hay… it's not an easy job."

"If it was, the ranch wouldn't be empty. Do you have people in mind that you could hire to help out?" Stark said.

Clint thought of Jane, her college diploma gathering dust in her RV, of Steve whose hands could build just about anything and who hated crowds, of Bruce, whose quiet voice and pained expression told Clint everything he needed to know about the clown's past life. "Yeah, I got some people in mind."

"If they're people you trust, consider them hired. Natalie, figure out the average salary for a ranch manager and the others. Get some paperwork together, I want it ready for Clint when he gets to the ranch." He looked at Clint, then continued on, "Pepper, give him an advance so everyone's traveling expenses are paid."

Clint tried not to look as bulldozed as he felt. "How do you know I'm going to be any good at this?"

Stark gave the first honest smile he'd seen out of the man. "You did alright with your last assignment. I'm willing to take the chance."

Clint said, weakly, "Where's the ranch at?"

Stark was already moving away. "Montana," he said over his shoulder.

"Where?" asked Clint. "Montana's a big state!"

"Just call me when you get to the state line, I'll have to look up exactly where it is," said Stark as he got into his limo, the women and Agent Coulson sliding in after him.

Clint shook his head, and climbed into his truck, a wad of cash and a brand new StarkPhone in his jacket pocket. Sure, this was probably going to eventually crash and burn around him, everything else always had, but at least for the time being he had enough money to keep not only himself and Widow fed, but to help out a few friends along the way.

He felt as if the last 24 hours had unmade him, taken him out of his life and stuffed him into another, where he had a chance to assemble a team of friends who could help each other out, and really make a difference.

He knew it was stupid, knew the other man couldn't hear him. But as he pulled his truck out onto the road, he whispered to Stark, "Thanks."

Epilogue:

"Tony?"

"Yes, Pepper, light of my life?"

"You don't really have a ranch, do you?"

"Not yet. Get on that for me, will you?"

Pepper sighed.

Natalie handed her a phone with Montana real estate listings already pulled up.


End file.
